Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 (53 page)

Midian didn’t hold back or offer mercy. He knew Chetiin wouldn’t. Their business would be finished here.

Geth saw his opening. He sprinted across the tomb, past Haruuc’s staring eyeless face, and dived into the pile of rolled carpets, digging among them until his fingers touched stiff leather. He closed them and wrenched out the leather tube that he had seen the false Chetiin take from his quarters.

There was a weight to the tube that he knew well, but he’d been tricked one too many times. Fingers fumbling with the clasp on the tube, Geth opened it just a bit.

The dim light of the moonstone—broken by the struggling shadows of Midian and Chetiin—flashed on a shaft of purple byeshk, thick as his wrist, carved with ancient symbols. A touch of his hand to Wrath confirmed it. This was the Rod of Kings. The true rod.

“I have it!” he shouted. He pushed himself to his feet and dashed back across the cavern, closing the clasp again as he went. Midian let out a howl of frustration—that turned into a howl of pain. Geth resisted the temptation to turn and see who was winning the fight. He ran for the stairs, racing up them with Tenquis following close behind.

He was about halfway up, the light of day glowing in the tomb door and a strange thrumming roar growing in his ears, when something big, heavy, and hairy dropped on him.

There was no chance to think what it was or where it came from. Geth had a brief sense of something falling on him, then he was crushed flat against the stairs. His breath exploded out of his mouth. The ribs he’d broken in his dive out of Khaar Mbar’ost cracked again in a sharp burst of pain rivaled only by the blossom of fire that bloomed when his head bounced off the stone steps. He heard Tenquis yell, but the sound seemed very far away.

The leather tube jerked out of his hand. A massive, wide-shouldered figure blotted out the daylight as it bounded up the stairs.

“Geth!” Hands grabbed him and turned him over. Tenquis’s face spun above him. Geth couldn’t quite focus on him. He couldn’t quite breathe either. His body heaved with the effort of it. Tenquis cursed and dug in a pocket, coming out with a little leather flask that he opened, stuck under Geth’s nose, and squeezed.

Acrid orange dust puffed up into Geth’s vision. It tickled his nose, burned his eyes, and somehow opened up his throat. He gasped and air rushed into his lungs. His head stopped spinning, though it still throbbed mercilessly. “What happened?” he asked.

Tenquis was already trying to drag him to his feet. “Makka! He must have braced himself between the walls of the passage. Geth, he has the rod!”

That, more than the orange dust, cleared Geth’s head.

“No.” Fighting back the pain in his side and his head, he thrust himself up the stairs. He twisted his head around as he ran to shout back into the tomb. “Chetiin! Makka’s stolen the rod!”

He staggered out of the tomb door just in time to see the bugbear snatch Pradoor up from where she stood chanting and vault into the saddle of a terrified horse. He wheeled the horse once and his eyes met Geth’s, then he spurred the beast along the road back into Rhukaan Draal.

H
orror mingled with rage in Geth’s gut and he latched onto the edge of the stone doorway to hold himself up. Tenquis, coming up behind him, grabbed his shoulder.

“Look there!” Tenquis pointed at a vast cloud of locusts that swarmed along the ridge.

Even as Geth turned his head, the cloud dissipated, the thrum of wings fading as fast as Pradoor’s chant. Some of the insects flew away, others dropped to the ground like a brown hail around the trio of bloodied figures that huddled at its heart. Geth’s fear surged again—then the figures stirred and Ashi, Ekhaas, and Aruget looked down at him.

“The rod?” called Ekhaas, her voice raw.

Geth pointed at Makka’s retreating horse.

“They have it?” Ashi asked. “After all that, they have the rod?”

Grim determination settled over Geth. “Makka has it, not Tariic,” he said. “We still have a chance to stop him.”

The other horses, calmer now that the locusts had gone, were still picketed. Geth let go of the doorway and moved for the stairs down to the ground—and would have pitched over if Tenquis hadn’t been there to catch him. The tiefling lowered him to the ground and pulled more flasks out of his pockets.

Geth pushed at him. Every moment they lingered Makka got closer to Khaar Mbar’ost. “There isn’t time for this!”

“You can’t stop him if you can’t walk,” Tenquis said.

“Listen to him, Geth.
Tapaat te nuusha ka koor te hara
—bind your wounds or bleed out your victory.”

Geth turned his head to see Chetiin climbing the stairs from the tomb. The goblin was bleeding himself. Long scratches tore the parchment-like skin of his face and a blood-soaked black sleeve clung to one arm. Far more astonishing, though, was the sight of Midian draped over the
shaarat’khesh’s
shoulder—limp and unconscious.

Chetiin answered Geth’s question before he spoke it. “This tomb was built for Haruuc, not his killer.” He dropped Midian. The gnome fell heavily, groaning as he hit the ground. Chetiin drew the dagger that had killed Haruuc and the blue-black crystal set in the ugly blade glittered. “Traitors die on the doorsteps of heroes.”

A desperate idea came to Geth. “Wait!” he said. “Don’t kill him.”

Chetiin and Tenquis both froze, the tiefling with surprise on his face, the goblin with cupped ears. Ashi, descending the ridge alongside Ekhaas and Aruget, cursed. Up close, Geth could see that the bloody appearance of the three came from dozens of tiny bites.

“Are you serious?” Ashi demanded as she slid down the last of the slope to land before the tomb.

“Yes.” Geth looked to Tenquis who held a flask motionless in one hand and a small heap of shimmering powders in the other. “Finish that,” he said, pointing at Midian, “then get out your orange dust and wake him up. Chetiin, do you know where his crossbow is?”

The goblin’s eyes narrowed and he gave a curt nod.

“Get it,” said Geth.

Chetiin didn’t move.

Geth saw the others exchange glances, then Ekhaas raised her voice. “What are you doing? Midian has turned on us three times.”

“Four,” he corrected her.

“And you still want to let him live?”

Geth struggled to his feet. “I’m trying to stop Tariic from getting his hands on the rod,” he said. “I don’t think Midian and his masters in Zilargo want it to happen any more than the rest of us do. We know him now. We won’t give him the chance to turn on us.” He moved unsteadily to Midian and nudged him with his toe.
The gnome groaned again and Geth said, “If we can catch Makka, maybe we won’t need him. If we can’t, if Makka gets the rod to Tariic, I think we will.”

Midian’s features twitched—Chetiin dropped into a crouch, dagger ready to strike—and one bright blue eye opened, rolling around to look at them. “You’ll need me for what?” he croaked.

“Awake after all,” Geth said. He crouched down beside the gnome and bared his teeth. “If Makka gets the rod to Tariic, we’re going to need all the help we can get, including you and your crossbow. We’ll have to finish what you started.” He looked up at the others. “We have to kill a king.”

They galloped back into Rhukaan Draal on the horses left behind. Chetiin rode with Geth, Midian with Aruget. The gnome looked as grim as any of them. Geth knew he’d guessed correctly. Even if Midian was a Zil agent, even if he wanted to capture the Rod of Kings for his own people, he didn’t want the rod under Tariic’s control. Or Tariic under the rod’s.

Beyond that, Geth didn’t trust him any more than a dog with a sausage. Midian rode with his hands tied behind his back. His crossbow rode with Ashi.

“I don’t like this,” said Chetiin in Geth’s ear, his voice pitched just over the thunder of the horses’ hooves.

“Killing Tariic or working with Midian?” Geth asked.

“Both. And working with an agent of Breland.”

Geth glanced at Aruget. “We can trust him. Or at least we could trust Benti.”

“Exactly.” The goblin’s strained voice dropped even lower. “He did nothing until he was forced to.”

“When Ashi was in trouble.”

“When his source of information was in trouble. He works for Breland just as Midian works for Zilargo. Be wary, Geth.”

He said no more.

Ekhaas and Tenquis, knowing the city best, rode point. Makka was long out of sight. Any hope of catching him seemed gone, but Tenquis still led them toward Khaar Mbar’ost by the route he swore
Makka would most likely have followed, although he’d warned them that it might be crowded.

“The city will come out to see Dagii return,” he’d said. “It will slow us but it will slow Makka, too.”

Except that the streets
weren’t
crowded. Most were less busy than when they had made their way out to Haruuc’s tomb. “Where is everyone?” asked Ashi.

A distant cheer answered her. “Dagii has crossed the Ghaal River,” said Ekhaas. “Everyone has gone to watch his procession.”

“By the sound of it, he’s near the Bloody Market,” Chetiin said.

Ekhaas’s face went hard and for a moment she looked like she might add something, but then she closed her mouth and put her ears back. Geth could guess what she was thinking. “Dagii needs to know what he’s heading into,” he said. “We need to warn him.”

“He already knows there’s danger,” said Ekhaas. Her ears flicked. “It’s best for him if he can deny any part in this.”

No one answered that. They all knew the same thing: the time for tricks and clever plans was over. If they wanted to keep the power of the rod a secret, to prevent Haruuc’s dream from destroying itself in the memories of a fallen empire, Tariic had to be the last to hold the Rod of Kings.

If they succeeded, they’d be the most famous assassins and thieves in Khorvaire—and the most hunted.

Riding alongside the noise of the crowd that cheered for the hero of the Battle of Zarrthec was like riding parallel to an unseen but rushing river. Along some of Rhukaan Draal’s straighter streets, Geth caught glimpses of the crowd, and once the flash of sunlight on spearpoints and armor like water seen through trees. After a long while, though, the shouting fell behind. Khaar Mbar’ost rose ahead—and the river fed into an ocean.

People packed the plaza before the red fortress. Off to their left, a wide path, kept open by bugbear guards, led directly to the gates of Khaar Mbar’ost. Warlords and dignitaries stood on a raised platform of about shoulder height, waiting for Dagii’s approach. As Geth and the others reined in their horses at the edge of the crowd, he saw familiar faces on the platform. Aguus of Traakuum. Garaad of Vaniish Kai. Iizan of Ghaal Sehn. Pater d’Orien. Senen Dhakaan. Munta. Vounn.

In fact, he knew all of the faces. Not so long ago, he would have been standing on the platform, too.

“I don’t see Makka or Pradoor,” said Ashi. “Or Tariic.”

“There,” Chetiin said.

The people on the platform parted to reveal the lhesh climbing up stairs at the back of the platform. Makka, looking around with the wariness of a hunter on edge, and Pradoor followed close behind him. The excited murmurs of the crowd turned into a roar of approval. Tariic stepped up to the front of the platform and raised the Rod of Kings. The roar of the crowd rose even higher.